Halfer
by Instead of Reality
Summary: Weaver had a secret: a child. But she can keep it a secret no longer. How long can she protect the father? How can she save her child from being hurt by the world she is brought in to?
1. Chapter 1

**Halfer**

A Looking Glass Wars Fan-Fiction

**Summary: **Weaver had a secret: a child. And now that it's no longer a secret. How long can she protect the father? How can she save her child from being hurt?

**Author's Note: **I have not read _Seeing Redd_, so this is just an idea. I got the name Weaver from Wikipedia. I own nothing that belongs to the world of the _Looking Glass Wars. _

* * *

**Chapter 1 **

She dodged in and out of the trees, desperate to escape whatever was following her. While she once was as light and quick as a deer, her bulging stomach slowed her down now.

She could hear her pursuers gaining, smashing through the branches. Pure terror kept her tired legs going—she had to live.

For the rebellion, she had knowledge they needed.

For herself, she was too young to die.

For the baby, who had yet to experience life.

For _him_, if he would ever return for her.

They were at her heels, the seekers humming excitedly, tasting her smell and her fear in the air. Unexpectedly, she stumbled and fell over a branch. She cursed and tried to lurch to her feet, but someone fell on her. She reacted, desperately trying to find tender pinpoints on her attacker to force him away.

"Sh! They'll hear you. Follow me. Stay low." She looked up and saw a man. A man in a hat. In the dark forest, she thought it was a top hat.

"_Hatter_?" She dared to hope. Had he returned at last?

"Come quickly, now!" hissed the man in the hat. Hope rose in her chest, warring with mistrust and terror. She could still hear the seekers, almost upon them. She hunched down and followed the man. Suddenly he pulled her into the nearest bush and crouched down. Card soldiers and Glass Eyes raced by.

The man began to uncurl, but she held his arm. "The seekers!" she reminded him. He cursed. She could hear their dreadful buzzing now, so in time with the jagged pounding of her heart. The seekers had her smell; they wouldn't lose it in the dark.

The man grabbed her roughly and pulled her along deeper and deeper into the forest. Without warning, he opened a large canteen and dumped it on her head. She gave a little surprised gasp at him, but wisely said nothing. He continued to pull a looking glass out. He pressed a button on the handle and it expanded into a floor-length mirror. He grabbed her roughly around the middle and pulled her into the mirror.

Immediately she found herself sliding through the looking glass, held tight by the man in the hat. The last thing she remembered was hoping the baby would be able to survive this.

-xxx-

"Weaver?"

Slowly her eyes opened. Faces blinked in and out of focus. Her head pounded. Her whole belly ached. Then—agonizing, horrendous pain. It was like the pains that came monthly—only much, much, _much_ worse.

"What?" she managed to spit out before moaning in agony.

"Dear, you're having the baby," a matronly voice told her. "We think going through the looking glass induced it—luckily, you don't seem far off your due date."

The baby. Weaver moaned. "It will be alright, dear," continued the voice, stroking her forehead.

The pain intensified.

"Push, dear, push!"

-xxx-

After what felt like hours, the baby left her body.

Nora, the midwife, turned to the exhausted woman, a squalling little bundle in her arms.

"Congratulations, it's a girl!"

Weaver didn't respond.

"Weaver!" gasped Nora, panic charging through the older woman's veins. After all the effort, would they lose her now? Nora felt for Weaver's pulse—and found it. It was slow, but steady. She had only fainted from exhaustion.

Nora breathed in relief. The Millinery scientist-turned-spy would be all right.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **It's all Frank Beddor's.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

She awoke around sunset. She didn't recognize her surroundings and it took her a moment to recall the events of the last twenty-four hours.

_...Panama bursting in to tell her Redd knew. Packing. Leaving Wonderopolis. Being forced off the train. Getting lost in the forest. Running. The seekers, the Glass Eyes. The man in the hat. The looking glass. The baby coming. _

The baby! Where was her child? She sat up quickly. That was a mistake, as it took a few minutes for the room to stop spinning. When all had settled, she looked around. She was in a small tent, on a cot. She could not tell anything else about her location. Had she made it to the Alyssians' camp? She doubted she had been captured by Redd—she'd either be dead…or dead. Redd didn't forgive double-crossers easily.

_Better Redd than dead. _

Just as she decided she had enough strength to get out of bed, an old woman entered. She was short, with pure white hair pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her brilliant blue eyes twinkled at the younger woman.

"Awake, are you? Thank goodness, you gave us all quite a fright there for a while."

"I'm sorry."

"No, no! Don't worry about it, dear. Now, I'm Nora, midwife and healer here. Take this." The old woman poured onto a spoon a bright red liquid out of a bottle produced from her pocket. Weaver took it without protest. "Cure-All," explained the old woman. "Thank goodness, we've still a few strong White Imaginers left. Where we'd be without them, I don't want to know."

Nora bustled around the tent. Weaver watched her. For all her cheeriness, the woman looked tired. Her dress was patched and very worn-looking. And on her sleeve was stitched a large red heart. Weaver recognized the heart—the red heart was the symbol of the rebellion. The symbol of the Alyssians, in memory of the dead princess Alyss Heart.

"So then, I am, we are, I mean, in the Alyssian camp?"

The woman nodded. "Lucky you are, too."

"Where's my baby?"

The woman smiled. "She's over with another mother who recently gave birth. We didn't want to bother you while you were out of consciousness."

"May I see her?"

"Certainly, certainly. However," here Nora paused, unsure. "There is, uh, someone who needs to talk to you as soon as possible."

As if on cue, two tall men came through the tent flap. Both wore hats; Weaver immediately recognized the man in the bowler hat.

"Bowler William!" she cried, completely ignoring the other man, who hung back in the shadows. She had worked with Bowler William before, back in the days of the Millinery. He had been in charge of training new Milliners and keeping track of Millinery progeny.

Bowler smiled. He had always admired the spirited Weaver, with her lovely brown eyes and hair and slender figure.

"How are you?" Weaver asked. She hadn't seen Bowler William for more than a year—before Redd.

"Been better," he replied honestly.

"We all have," replied Weaver gently, remembering she had heard that his wife, Cloche Clara (another Milliner), had been killed by card soldiers.

Bowler nodded briefly. He did not have time to chat with Weaver—he was here on business. "There are some important, urgent things we need to talk about."

Nora took the hint and scurried out of the tent.

"First, I would like to say, we are all greatly relieved that you managed to escape, with such short notice. And General Doppelganger hates to push it, especially after, err, your giving birth, but we need the information you've gathered over the last six months."

Weaver, who had been leaning back against her pillows, sat straight up at attention to report, all business. "Have you been in contact with Panama Alden at all?" Bowler shook his head. "Panama and I have been working closely on a few things. Panama had all the sketches of our new discoveries and inventions. She also had the notes we took from Mount Isolation tucked into them. She has everything: the codes, the new Imaginings Redd has been cooking up, _everything_."

Bowler looked distressed.

"I have it all memorized, Bowler. That's not what worries me. If Panama didn't make it…"

"—We'll do our best to find Panama Alden. She's always been an important asset to the Millinery because of her inventions as well as being an excellent Milliner."

"Thank you. As for the information, Redd's Imaginings are getting worse. The Glass Eyes are bad enough, but she's thinking up all new ways to broadcast to the people, new torture devices, new ways of finding this camp. She's created an imagination-stimulant drug that once you take you become addicted—one way to pull people further into Black Imagination. She's also got Bibwit Harte rewriting _In Queendom Separmus_. Our one good fortune is that she is not concerned with the Alyssians—we are only a little scratch in her side. However, she is dead-set on rooting out the Millinery. Because of its past affiliations with White Imagination."

"We knew that she would take action eventually."

"Fortunately, we were prepared. She decided that to have one inside non-Millinery insider—myself—and one Milliner—Panama—would be perfect to lead her to all the old Milliners." Weaver's face hardened. "To keep her from guessing at our real mission, we planted Millinery weapons at our enemies' houses—most of them she had sent to the Crystal Mines. A few she killed." She saw Bowler open his mouth to object. "Look, Bowler, it was either that or betray actual Milliners—we couldn't take that risk. Luckily, most are not dead—we regret those that are. But this is _war_, so don't lecture me on the Millinery ethic code. Milliners are trained to fight and _kill_, and we, Milliner or not, now have to do that to survive."

Bowler smiled weakly. "You learn quickly and well for a Civilian."

"That's high praise from a Milliner." Weaver's tone had just a touch of sarcasm.

"We will try to get our hands on your notes and Panama. I don't want to overexert you."

"That's fine. Panama and I created eleven new weapons for Milliners—five more hat types."

"Excellent. Is there anything else vital that I need to hear from you alone?"

Weaver nodded. "Redd's Imaginings—they are more serious than we thought. As you know, Wonderland's Imaginings eventually will be released and appear in other worlds. Redd's Imaginings have been popping up throughout the Cosmos, but most significantly and dangerously, on a world known as Universe. Specifically, a planet known as Earth. Events and Imaginings take place in similar form on Earth, grand-scale."

"This is very grave."

Weaver nodded. "Not only is Redd affecting Wonderland, she's hurting the entire Cosmos."

Bowler looked grave. "Thank you for your information, Weaver. I don't know what we'd have done without you."

Weaver fell back against her pillows and nodded, feeling very tired all of a sudden. She had done her duty. All she wanted now was to see her baby and sleep for a very long time. Bowler too started to turn towards the tent opening. The other man who had been in the room with them the entire time—forgotten until now—coughed lightly. Bowler paused and looked at him. The man gave Bowler a significant look.

"Err, um. Well, uhhh," poor Bowler stammered. "Weaver, there is, err, another, well, matter still to be discussed."

Weaver kept her weary gaze on Bowler as he squirmed.

"Yes?"

The second man stepped forward—Weaver hadn't even remembered he was in the room. As she looked up at him, her heart jumped with hope. He was extremely tall, and his top hat cast his facial features into shadows. Could it be . . .?


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **I'm on a roll with this one, and I'm trying to get it done before the little toga-wearing muse in my mind runs away again.I own nothing.

* * *

**Chapter 3 **

"Ha—?" she started to say, but the man interrupted her smoothly.

"No, we _have_ _not_ met before. Topper McGee, ma'm." He lifted his hat briefly from his head, revealing pale skin, auburn hair, and green eyes—he was not who she thought he had been.

"Oh." Her heart dropped unpleasantly in her stomach; her sudden hope fading painfully. Not only wasn't he who she wanted him to be, she may just have revealed something to him. But he had deliberately kept her from saying the name—could he know? "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. McGee."

"Topper, please, ma'm. I'm a Milliner; you are almost as good as one from all accounts."

Bowler coughed slightly. Topper and Weaver ignored him.

"Topper, then. And I am Weaver."

"Bowler William, I will tend to this with Mistress Weaver if you so please." Bowler nodded quickly and left, his relief evident in his quick exit.

Once Bowler was gone, Topper shut the tent flap. He then turned back towards Weaver.

"We haven't formally been introduced before, but we _have_ met."

Weaver narrowed her eyes, sorting through her memories. "You were the man who saved me in the forest." Topper nodded. "I owe you my life," she added, a little bit grudgingly; she hated being obliged to someone.

"You might have made it on your own. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time."

"I doubt it—I didn't have any Looking Glass transport on me."

"I wouldn't have one if you hadn't invented it. You've indirectly saved your own skin."

"But where did you get it? It was one of the inventions that Panama and I developed in the last few months."

Topper smiled. "I've been in contact with Panama Alden. She's alive and well. I also," Topper removed a large copybook from a pocket inside his Millinery coat, "have your notes."

Weaver was dumbfounded. "What—Where? How?"

"Panama escaped shortly after you did. She hid in an imagination-stimulant-drug den. She came and found me after."

"How do you know Panama?"

Topper blushed slightly. "We grew up next door to each other. We—well I suppose you could say we were sweethearts. Until Redd. Then she told me she'd had enough. I didn't know that it was her cover, to disappear, to cut all ties from the Millinery and serve as a double-agent."

Weaver smiled, a little forced. She had never been a fan of sweethearts and love. Panama had never mentioned Topper, but then, Panama knew of Weaver's thoughts on love—and Weaver's own romantic situation.

Topper paused for a moment. "Weaver, I am going to ask you a series of questions that may become a tad, well, uncomfortable. But I need you to answer truthfully."

Weaver nodded, her heart picking up speed ever so slightly.

"You are called Weaver?" Topper's voice had taken on an authoritative tone.

"Yes."

"You served as a scientist for the Millinery pre-Redd?"

"Yes."

"You also had a hand in inventing for the Millinery weaponry, working most closely with Panama Alden?"

"Yes."

"You have no Millinery blood? No ancestors who served?"

"Not that I know of. I doubt it."

"When was the last time you were in contact with your parents or other family members?"

"About a year."

"A year?" Topper seemed a little surprised.

"I've been serving as a spy for the past eight months. Contact with family isn't permitted or intelligent if you don't want to get caught."

"But before that? A year is twelve months."

Weaver paused. She picked that the blanket that covered her. "I had an argument with my father. He was very anti-Millinery because of some past experiences. He wanted me to quit because he thought that the only reason I was hired was because they were hoping to bed me. 'Why else would they hire a pretty Civilian girl?' He didn't think I was smart enough to begin with."

"He thinks that badly of the Millinery?"

"He had a rough time with one, but that's all he'll ever say about it. My mother always agrees with my father. And when I left, that was the end of it. I haven't spoken to them or my sisters or brother since."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Weaver smiled. "I've always been the black sheep of the family, the wild one."

"Do you miss them?"

Weaver smiled wryly. "More than I'd care to admit, but it did make it easier for me to disappear for this past assignment."

She didn't like the sympathetic looks Topper was starting to give her. She almost wished he would just ask her the difficult question to get away from this other stuff. As if he read her mind, he switched back to his questions.

"Did you have friends among the Milliners, good friends, at least?"

"Yes, quite a few."

"Ones that you could confide in?"

"Yes, I could."

"Did you ever confide things to these friends?"

"Yes, of course," Weaver laughed. "What woman doesn't need someone to talk to and complain with?"

"And though you say you have confidantes, no one, until you were brought to this camp, knew of your pregnancy. You're not married, are you?"

Ah. They had arrived here. These were the "uncomfortable" questions. Weaver knew, by the way Topper shifted to sit straighter, that these were the questions that had the answers he most wanted.

"No."

"Did you tell anyone of your pregnancy?"

"I told Redd that my husband had been killed by Alyssians—it gave her more reason to believe that I was on her side. Other than that, the only person that knew was Panama Alden."

"But you have no husband."

"Yes."

"Who is the father of your child?"

* * *

**Duh, duh, duhhhh... **


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **I own nothing. I wish I could be creative enough to create a world like this, but Frank Beddor thought of it first.

* * *

"_Who is the father of your child?"_

* * *

**Chapter 4 **

Weaver's eyes widened at Topper's bluntness. She had expected him to beat around the bush for this one. But he did not blush, nor back down as he watched her intently.

"I—I—can't tell you."

"You need to."

Weaver looked at her hands, clenched on her sheets. She couldn't reveal it. They had had to keep it a secret; Milliners and Civilians aren't supposed to mix.

"It's Hatter Madigan, isn't it?" asked Topper softly.

Weaver jerked her head up, ready to dispute it.

"Before you answer, remember: you called me Hatter in the forest. You almost called me Hatter right now. The only man I know named Hatter is the legendary Hatter Madigan, who has been gone for almost eight months."

"That doesn't mean anything." Her eyes were fierce.

"It doesn't? You two were known to be very close, before his disappearance."

"So? We were _friends_. Is it believed that all men I talked to are possible candidates for being a father? Are all my male friends under suspicion?"

Topper had the grace to blush, but did not look away.

"No, ma'm. I'm not suggesting anything. But, you cannot deny that you just had a baby and a woman alone cannot create a child."

Weaver looked at him. "I'm a scientist, am I not? Could I not have developed a way to create a child without the traditional way of conceiving?"

Topper just looked at her.

"I could run a simple test on your child, to identify who the parents are."

Weaver glared at him. "You will do no such thing." She had to hand it to the man; he knew how to keep his cool. He didn't even look vaguely frustrated, just a little tired—and everyone looked tired these days. Topper was probably being run ragged, being an Alyssian, a Milliner, _and_ a Milliner with an important job.

"Weaver?"

Weaver looked away. She would have to tell him; she wouldn't see her daughter until he knew. Topper wouldn't hurt her on purpose—he seemed a decent sort, young, gentle but determined. He and Panama would be a pair, Panama with her wild, dark hair and force-of-nature personality.

"Hatter Madigan is the father, isn't he?"

Weaver sat back. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Nothing." Weaver was startled. "I know half-Milliner, half-Civilians aren't generally accepted. But I don't agree. I think that love can happen between any two people. It doesn't discriminate against our niches in society or other absurd ideas."

Weaver snorted. "You're an idealist."

"Maybe, ma'm," Topper grinned. Then his face grew serious. "However, many others are not. There are many Milliners who don't believe that halfers should exist. They're considered traitors and untrustworthy. "

"Halfer?" She had heard the term before, but had never even realized that it could apply to her baby. Not Hatter's baby.

"That's what a child who has a Milliner and a Civilian for parents is called. It's supposed to be derogatory, but it's not horribly offensive. It's just the connotation that can be—will be—hurtful."

"I've heard it before. I just don't see how this is going to affect me, or my daughter. No one has to know that her father wasn't Civilian."

"The Millinery has to know. "

Weaver suggested the Millinery do explicit things to itself.

Topper smiled wryly. "I am sorry, Weaver. But even if she isn't registered as a halfer, people—especially Milliners—will _know_."

"How? _Milliners_ don't have a mark on them that makes them stand out. All they have are those hats—hats _I _designed. They're—you're—human like the rest of us."

"_Halfers_ are marked." Topper's voice was very quiet.

"Marked? You've marked my baby?"

"No. But her blood marks her. As she ages, a vein in the shape of an _h_ will appear below her ear. It happens to all halfers. Left if the father was the Milliner, right if the mother. We're not sure why it occurs—some say that it shows the traitor in their blood. I don't agree with it. I think it occurs because Milliners marry Milliners and the blood stays within the ranks. When a new blood enters, something occurs and marks them. However, it's not per se a _natural_ occurrence. Someone Imagined it, whether White or Black, I don't know which. Whoever created it probably had a strong dislike for halfers."

Weaver's mouth tightened. She had thought she was free from worry. She closed her eyes and willed it to go away. She willed Hatter to come back, to wrap her in his arms and tell her it would be alright.

Realizing what she had just wished, she gave something between a laugh and a snort. Topper raised an eyebrow. She opened her eyes and saw his questioning look.

"I never depended or _needed_ anyone before. Just me, doing my job, having fun. Romantic nonsense wasn't for me, or so I thought. I didn't need anyone to lean on, anyone to struggle with, anyone to tell me it was going to be okay." Now she needed him. And he was gone.

Dammit, Hatter. Dammit.

"And then you met Hatter?" Topper asked.

Weaver laughed at him. "You are an idealist for sure. No, I'd known Hatter for years. Pretty well, too, seeing as I never had many friends outside the Millinery. Then somehow we just became closer. And then one night, he…" She was reliving the past, seeing it play out as she talked. "…kissed me… And over the next few months, one thing led to another …Soon I was head over heels and then he vanished. And I found out that, well," she gestured at her stomach. She laughed, "That sounds awful, doesn't it? I'm never good at telling stories." She shook her head. "It wasn't terribly romantic, neither of us has a romantic bone in our bodies. But I loved—love—him, and I know he loved me, too."

"Were you going to marry him?"

Weaver met Topper's eyes. "You're an idealist _and _a romantic. No, we weren't, not that I know of. How could we? A Milliner and a Civilian? I know the prejudice. Civilians are alright to have as friends or scientists or even a good roll in the sack. But marriage? Interfering with their precious bloodlines? Civilians are beneath them. No offense, Topper."

"None taken, ma'm. I've heard it myself. I don't believe it and I know plenty of others that don't think that way."

"I know. But there are enough that _do_ think that way. And selfishly, I never wanted children. I was perfectly content to be lovers, to keep our relationship secret."

She sighed. "And now he's gone. Dead, I'm told. I don't know. I just don't think the Cat had anything on Hatter. But Redd loves to tell that story of how the Cat clawed the great Hatter Madigan and the princess Alyss into little tiny bits."

Her fingers trembled. Stupid, stupid. No weaknesses. No weaknesses.

"But…I have a little bit of Hatter left, at least. I have something no one else has—his daughter, and she's part mine. I have some way of still loving him."

"That's right, you do."

"Oh, don't give me pity. I'll be fine. But…" she paused as inspiration hit her, "I want her trained as a Milliner."


	5. Chapter 5

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**Author's Note: **

I've never approved of my writing this fast. I know, most people don't want to read this, but I want to finish it. And I feel like I'm close. Oh, and I own nothing.

**

* * *

******

Chapter 5

"Weaver—I can't do that."

"Why not?" Her temper flared. "She's the daughter of _The _Hatter Madigan. And she's going to be penalized by the fact that I am Civilian? Even though _you_ said I was as good as a Milliner? _You_ believe that Civilians and halfers aren't bad people or blood traitors or beneath you…or so you say."

"Weaver, if it were in my power, I'd enroll her in a training program immediately. But my colleagues, they are not all 'idealistic,' as you call it. The prejudice runs deep."

The corners of Weaver's mouth tightened and her eyes locked on Topper's. Topper saw a wild determination in them, one so fierce and strong, that it made him feel helpless. He wanted to help her, really. But to go against his superiors would throw him into deep trouble and he would be regarded with suspicion. And in these times, potential double-crossers were so distrusted and he could "disappear" quite easily. Everyone needed to stand together against Redd and taking down the accepted system of the Millinery could be the downfall of the entire resistance. A divided group is easy pickings, especially for one so conniving as Redd.

Topper told Weaver all of this. Each point he added to his case, he could see her resistance crumbling little by little. However, her resolve was still strong.

Weaver knew Topper was right in many ways, but the way Milliners looked down on Civilians had always made her angry. And now, thinking of their treatment of halfers made her blood boil, more so because her daughter was one. Just because their blood wasn't pure enough. Her daughter, the daughter of a legend, would be denied Millinery status. It wasn't that her daughter wouldn't be a Milliner, it was that her daughter would have to face the prejudice she herself, as a Civilian, had had to work through before getting respect-only her daughter would have it tenfold.

And then Topper pulled out the big gun.

"Hatter wouldn't want you to question the Millinery; he lived by the book."

Topper saw her eyes flare for a moment. But Weaver said nothing. He watched her carefully, and saw her shoulders slump. He figured that this had been the breaking point; he felt a little bad. He knew he had played dirty. And he felt a twinge in his heart. Any daughter of Hatter Madigan and the remarkable woman before him would be a terrific addition to any organization.

Weaver sighed, "Look, we've been arguing over the fate of my daughter, and I haven't even met her. If I agree, will you let me see her?"

Topper nodded.

Weaver closed her eyes. "Fine, I will not try to enroll her in the Academy."

Topper stood up. "Thank you, Weaver. I'm terribly sorry about all this. If it weren't for the times, I'd be by your side to start changing the mind-set."

"We all fear for ourselves and our loved ones in this kind of time. And we need to stand by them. I've seen enough of what Redd can do," Weaver said gently. "You are a rather remarkable person, Mr. McGee."

Topper blushed to the roots of his hair. "You're something else yourself, Mistress Weaver. I can promise you that I will be checking up on you."

Weaver smiled as he ducked out of the tent. She sat back heavily, eyes closed, feeling drained, emotionally and physically. She heard Topper talking in a low voice outside, and in a moment, she heard a female voice very close to her.

"Weaver? There's someone here for you."

Slowly Weaver opened her eyes and looked to see Nora, with a small bundle in her arms. Trembling, she reached out for her daughter.

Nora smiled as she lowered the baby into the young woman's arms. The babe was a tiny thing, Weaver thought, as she wrapped her arms around the child. She looked down into the little face, and her world spun. Nothing else existed except for the tiny figure she held. The brown trusting eyes, so like her own, blinked sleepily at her and Weaver fell in love for the second time in her life.

The mothering instincts that Weaver was sure she had never possessed took over as the baby began nuzzling against her, hungry.

"What shall you name her?" asked Nora.

A name? thought Weaver. "I …don't know."

She gazed at the beautiful little face, a mixture of herself and Hatter. It was a round face, with brown eyes, and brown hair, very much like her own. The babe really didn't resemble Hatter at all, something that could protect her until her mark appeared. Weaver clutched her daughter tighter as the thought of the ugly things her daughter would have to face.

She could remember well what she had to face and remembered thinking, once upon a time, at least she wasn't a halfer.

No, Weaver thought fiercely. _No! _

She would protect her daughter against the prejudice. Her daughter would not experience it. If it meant hiding her daughter away from the Millinery world, so be it. She would find a way.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **So it's been months and months since I've updated. I honestly was considering leaving it at the end of Chapter 5, but I re-read it and felt that there was something missing. So I've started writing some new chapters. :D

**I do not own the characters.**

* * *

**Chapter 6 **

"Mommy! Mommy! Look what I found!"

Weaver smiled as the four-year-old scrambled over towards her. Then her smile fell when she saw what was clutched in the small fist.

A hat.

A homburg hat to be more precise.

"Sweetie, where'd you get that?"

"I found it!" Molly's eyes were bright with excitement and pride in her accomplishment.

"Where did you find it?"

"Tent!"

"_Our_ tent?"

Molly nodded.

"Are you sure?" Weaver bent down so she was on eye-level with her mischievous daughter. It wouldn't be the first time she'd "found" something.

Molly's eyes got big as she realized that Mommy _knew_.

"No."

"No?"

Molly looked down at the ground, and slowly held the hat out towards Weaver. Weaver took the hat in her hands.

"Molly, tell Mommy the truth. Where did you find this?"

"Auntie Nama's tent." Nama was Molly's name for Panama Alden, who had taken on the role of aunt to Weaver's offspring.

"And what were you doing in Aunt Nama's tent?"

"Visiting the baby."

Panama had recently given birth to her and Topper's first child. The little boy had Panama's dark hair and Topper's green eyes. He was only a few weeks old and Molly was fascinated by him, constantly asking about what _she_ was like as a baby. The boy hadn't been officially named yet, as was typical of Millinery children. His name and hat would be chosen in a special ceremony.

Drawn back to the moment at hand, Weaver touched her daughter's cheek.

"Molly, you can't take other people's things. This doesn't belong to you and no one gave you permission to touch it."

"But, Mommy! Auntie Nama said I could!"

Weaver mentally cursed her best friend. Panama did not approve of Weaver's choice to keep everything Millinery away from Molly. If Weaver had her way, Molly wouldn't know what a hat was. But Panama and Topper wouldn't take their hats off, as good Milliners. And there were other Milliners in the camp. Weaver very well couldn't ask all of them to get rid of _their _hats, because that would ruin her plan to hide Molly from the Millinery world.

"Alright, sweetie. But next time, tell Auntie Nama Mommy said no, okay?"

"Yes, Mommy. Kisses?"

"Kisses" was Molly's way of saying she was sorry. She would kiss her mother's cheek five times and then plant a raspberry on her. She didn't understand why Mommy thought it was so funny, but she knew that she usually wasn't in trouble after it happened.

Weaver giggled and hugged her daughter. Molly squirmed, trying to get down. Weaver kissed her once and plopped her back on the ground. With orders to not touch anything else, even if Auntie Nama said so, Molly scampered off to play.

Sighing, Weaver looked at the hat she had taken from her daughter. Molly would have been given her hat and name three years ago, if she were Millinery. Instead, Weaver had thumbed through a book she had found, looking for names. She had discovered the derivative of her mother's name, Mary, to mean both "rebellious" and "love." Loving the way it rolled off her tongue and the meaning behind it, her daughter was named Molly.

Fingering the curve on the top of the hat, Weaver frowned. With a flick, she knew the hat would turn into a shield, with edges that could cut through iron. She had developed it only weeks ago and had asked Panama to keep it with her, until Weaver could find a way to show it to General Doppelganger. She worked in a separate tent than the one where she and Molly lived, with all her tools and materials. Everything she did was to keep Molly out of the Millinery world. It was one thing to keep her from the Millinery and another to keep her in the dark about the reality the adorable little toddler lived in.

Molly was a smart girl, quiet when around strangers. Holding her council, the way Hatter always did. And Weaver had a suspicion that Molly understood more than she let on. Keeping the Millinery a secret was more difficult than Weaver had thought.

Later that afternoon, Weaver sat down in Panama's tent, her hands cupped around a hot mug of tea. Molly bounded around, chattering happily.

"Have you seen the way he struts around, with his big bottom out? That knave Jack of Diamonds is up to no good—" Panama was saying.

"Hush, Panama. Keep your mouth shut. There are plenty of others that trust the lout," Weaver warned. "Just because we're in this camp doesn't mean Redd doesn't have spies here."

Panama shook her head at her wearily. "Weaver, you are entirely too much like Hatter—with this constant vigilance thing."

Weaver smiled tightly. The memory of her lover still stung, and she couldn't believe that she still missed him as much as she had when his loss was still recent. Granted, others spoke of him and the Princess Alyss often as they were symbols of the rebellion; so the sting of his name didn't penetrate the shield she had created around her heart. But when Panama referenced him, the shield was not as impenetrable as Weaver would have liked.

"You can never be too careful."

"You don't think Redd could still be looking for us, do you? I mean, it's been so long." Panama clutched her little boy closer to her. The woman had not lost her dark, wild beauty in the years, but there were deeper lines on her face, lines that had been threatening to develop since she and Weaver had gone undercover.

Weaver shrugged her shoulders in a helpless gesture. "How am I to know? You're the one with the connections to the espionage business." She watched Molly dart here and there, in her imaginary game, babbling in her adorable speech.

A few minutes later, Topper strode into the tent. He did not look much different from the first time Weaver had seen him, but if you looked close enough you could see the lines about his eyes and some premature grey in his ruddy hair.

He stooped and kissed Panama on the top of her head.

"Hello, darling," he said softly. "Hello, son."

There was a light in his eyes as he looked at his wife and child, despite how dead on his feet he was. Weaver felt the familiar well of jealousy seep up through her, but she fought it down. She had no right. She didn't want Topper, though he was a fine man. She had her own child, whom she loved dearly.

"Weaver, how are you?" he asked.

"Same as always," she answered.

"Good to hear," he said absently.

"I see you didn't take the new hat to Doppelganger yet."

Panama and Topper exchanged a guilty glance. Weaver kept her voice light and her facial expressions calm, so not to call her daughter's attention to the fact that Mommy was not happy with Auntie Nama and Uncle Topper.

"Weaver, I'll get it to him as quickly as possible," Topper began, only to be cut off by his wife.

"He's got enough on his plate. He's doing the best he can," she said defensively.

"But you could at least find a proper hiding place for it, so that my daughter does not find it."

Both Topper and Panama swiveled their heads toward the toddler, who did not notice the surveillance. Again, the couple exchanged a glance.

"Molly, honey, want to come help me put the baby to bed?" asked Panama sweetly. Molly gave an excited cry and followed her adopted aunt from the room. However, the little girl ran back into the room with a glum face.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" asked Weaver worriedly, standing to go over to her.

Molly frowned. "You said I couldn't do anything, even if Auntie Nama said so."

"Go help with the baby," Weaver sighed. She smiled, despite herself, to see her daughter's face fill with joy as she dashed out of the room. "If only we all weren't so easy to please," she mused thoughtfully, more to herself than to her companion.

"The world would indeed be a more peaceful place if we were all happily disposed," Topper agreed.

Weaver returned to the matter at hand. "Well," she queried sharply, "why was the homburg hat kept in plain sight so that my daughter could find it?"

"We didn't exactly keep it in plain sight. We did hide it, but she found it."

"You're telling me that you found a place you thought was safe from spies and nosy people, only for my four-year-old to find?"

"Okay. Yes, it wasn't the best spot, but she did find it on her own. It wasn't just sitting out."

"That's irresponsible, Topper."

He took a breath. "We were hoping she'd find it."

"You what?" gasped Weaver.

Topper sighed as he gathered his thoughts. But before he could open his mouth to speak, Weaver deluged him with outrage.

"You are telling me that you and your fool wife planned that Molly should find a hat, _that _hat? Why? Because you are going to taunt her with what she can't have? Because you have decided that you are going to introduce her into a world that will scorn her? The world I've done my best to keep her out of? No, sir, you will not. You won't train her as a Milliner, fine. I promised not to send her to the Academy, didn't I? And now, you do this?"

Weaver's face grew steadily redder, her brown eyes snapping dangerously. Topper watched her and waited until she would be spent. Weaver's fuse was a short one. She became angry quickly, but that anger exploded and burned itself just as quickly.

"Weaver, you promised never to send her to the Academy. However, you did not promise that you wouldn't train her as a Milliner."

"Excuse me?" Weaver's face had that look when one was caught between emotions. Her cheeks were crimson still, and her mouth was drawn in a tight line, but her eyebrows were raised and her eyes were wide and startled.

"We are going to train Molly."

* * *

**Well, we knew it had to happen. I promise to finish, but it won't be much longer. **

**And thank you to the Anonymous Reviewer "Penpen", I corrected all the mispellings of Hatter's last name. **


	7. Chapter 7

****

**Author's Note**: Thank you so so so so much to dragongirlj, who has been helping me fill in the gaps from what I don't know. You are the best!

**Chapter 7**

"Don't make me laugh," Weaver spat.

"I'm dead serious." Topper looked serious. His face was set. He was sitting straight up, like the soldier he was, with his arms loosely resting on his knees. Weaver recognized the stance-Hatter had sat like that. When he was determined, and he knew that something would probably go wrong, he had sat like that. It suggested that he knew there was going to be a fight, and was steeling himself for it.

"Who's 'we'?" asked Weaver.

"Panama, myself, and hopefully, you."

"_Me_? I don't know Millinery tactics."

"You don't fool me. You had to undergo training before you went Redd. You were taught the moves. You may not have been allowed to wear a hat, but you sure as hell know how to fight."

Weaver raised an eyebrow. "Panama told you?"

Topper smiled. "She did, but I already knew."

"Sneaking through files, have you? Nosy." Weaver wasn't sure how she felt that Topper knew that she was just as capable of killing him as he was of killing her.

"No. But if you recall the first time we met, you revealed that you were not just a Civilian."

"I am just a Civilian. A Civilian with some Millinery training. But do tell how you knew."

Topper ticked off the reasons on his fingers. "One, no untrained pregnant woman could have stayed ahead of all Redd's cronies in the forest that long. In fact, your pregnancy was probably the only reason they came close. Two, when I pulled you to the ground, you let me take you down and then tried attacking my weakest areas, not just uselessly struggling. Three, you didn't question me. Anyone else would have asked, at least, one 'why' question. And four, once you realized I wasn't an enemy, you didn't forget about your pursuers. You remembered the seekers. If that doesn't prove basic training, I don't know what else does."

Weaver sighed. "Again, your logic has aided you in figuring me out."

"I just get lucky," Topper smiled modestly. "If my logic could get us all out of this horrific mess, I would have used it long ago."

"If only wishing would just smite Redd," Weaver agreed.

"Wishing's a powerful thing, and Imagination is stronger, but unfortunately with the morale so low, our White Imagination isn't what it ought to be. If we had one of the Hearts, that would make all the difference."

"But Nolan and Genevieve and Alyss are dead. The only Heart left is Her Royal Black Heart."

"That's not the point," Topper sighed. He ran his fingers through his hair. "Weaver, look. It's dangerous out there. You don't need me to tell you that."

"No, I don't. But-"

He held up his hand. "Two things will impact you and your daughter, rather directly. First, Redd has put a bounty on your head."

Ice pierced Weaver's veins and shot straight to her heart. She did not move, did not blink, as she stared at Topper. She tried opening her mouth, desperate to say something. Topper's face was grim as he watched her struggle, gaping like a fish out of water.

"You're not the only one she's hunting-you are one among thousands. But you are still on that list. You are the only one in the camp on that goddamn list. Not Doppelganger. Not Dodge. Even Panama isn't on it."

Weaver remembered the last time she had been this terrified, in the forest. But this fear was different. This time she wasn't fearing for herself. She had two to fear for.

"What of Molly?" she whispered.

Topper shook his head. "I doubt Redd remembers you were pregnant. But there's no one looking for her."

Weaver could breathe a little bit easier.

"How do you know about this? Redd's hit list is infamous, but it's not broadcasted. It's been four years since I sat in her lab, but I remember it. It took us ages to find where she stashed it. Under her pillow, it was."

"An anonymous tip."

Weaver immediately jumped to a conclusion. "You trust something from Jack?"

Jack of Diamonds had given them more information over the past year than any other resource. However, it seemed that every time they had acted on what he'd brought, Redd had stayed just ahead of them. Only thrice had he brought results, and they had only resulted in minor triumphs: a stimulant-drug den, the freedom of one little girl, and a connection to Borderland.

"I didn't say it was from Jack. That's why I'm trusting it."

"But an anonymous tip? How do we know it's not a trap?"

"It's our connection in Borderland. That, yes, was brought to our attention by Jack. We've investigated it. Seems this person was intercepted by Jack and was already trying to establish a go-between us and Borderland, and Jack stumbled upon it by mistake, and then took the credit."

Weaver showed no surprise. Jack wanted all the credit he could get. In Weaver's humble opinion, he was trying too hard to show how loyal he was to the Alyssians. But no one listened to her.

"The second thing is that sooner or later, word will be leaked about Molly's blood status." Topper had prepared himself for Weaver's anger and cut her off. He'd heard her on the subject often enough. "You've protected her well. But when she is marked, you cannot hide her forever. Nothing can conceal it permanently. She'll need to be equipped to face the world. Milliners won't like her, and some can get violent. If Genevieve or even Alyss were the reigning queen, it would be simpler. But now, people don't trust someone who isn't completely one thing. These days, one's either Black or White. Molly just happens to be Civilian _and _Milliner. And no one knows what this world will be like. Every child, in my opinion, needs to know how to defend his- or her-self."

"Your idealism still shines through," she remarked.

"If it can survive this long, anything is possible," he smiled. "But you need to start teaching your daughter. If my son could walk, I'd have already taught him the basic exercises."

-xxx-

Weaver, clutching her daughter tight, had walked home quickly from her friends' tent. It was twilight now, and she was glad to be safe inside before dark.

Safe, she scoffed, in a room made of cloth. It was amazing that she could feel safe in a place that could be easily destroyed. Look at how easily her world had been destroyed. Her family, her parents and siblings, forgotten. Her job and friends, over. Her lover, supposedly dead. Her life was so easily destroyed.

She glanced, unconsciously, towards one of the sole remaining reason for her existence. Molly had fallen asleep next to the baby, and was now cuddled onto her cot, mumbling in her sleep. This part of her life, Weaver vowed, would never be destroyed.

And the only way she could prevent it was not by pretending, but by arming Molly to the best of her abilities.

She knew now that her time without her daughter was limited. If she was on the hit list, there would come a time when she would have to leave. Topper had promised that they would protect her, but she knew that it was too dangerous. She couldn't put all of these people, and Molly, in that kind of danger. Her heart ached and felt like a stone in her chest at the thought of leaving the little girl alone, unprotected. No, not unprotected, she thought fiercely. She'd make her girl, her and Hatter's, stronger. Strong enough to face the harsh world she'd been born into and not break.

By the light of a single candle, Weaver began to stretch, and her muscles remembered hours of kicking and lunging, twisting and turning, dodging and weaving. Executing a difficult double tuck with a flying kick at the end, she landed with a thud on the floor.

Panting, she grimly stood. She wasn't in the same shape she had been four years ago, but at least she remembered the movements. She only hoped it would be enough for Molly.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: I do not own this or any version of Wonderland. **

* * *

**Chapter 8**

"I can have it?" Molly's voice was timid, and her eyes were suspicious. Mommy had never let her touch a hat before, and she'd gotten into big trouble the last time she'd touched this one.

"Yes, it's yours."

"It's not my birthday?"

"No, sweetie. But it's a present, all the same."

"Why?" she asked.

Her expression in that moment was so like her father's. She wanted something, but she knew better than to trust something handed to her. Weaver knew then that her work had paid off. As much as she longed to give her daughter a happy, carefree childhood, she knew that it wasn't possible. But her daughter was smart, and at the age of four, she was questioning a gift.

Weaver knelt so she was eye-level with Molly. "You know how Aunt Nama and Uncle Topper wear hats?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, this is a special hat, like theirs. Only it is for you. Uncle Topper and I are going to teach you to be a Milliner."

"A Mill-ner?"

"Yes. Milliners are a special group of people who are trained to fight for the White side."

"For the Alyss-ins?"

Topper had been teaching her the history of Wonderland, and the message had sunk in, Weaver noted with pleasure.

"Yes. For the Alyssians."

"Are you a Mill-ner?"

"No, I am not. I used to work for the Millinery, as a scientist. But Mommy is what Milliners call a 'Civilian'."

"I don't want to be a Mill-ner without you, Mommy."

"Darling, you _have_ to."

"No." The little girl's lower lip pushed forward.

"Molly, don't make faces at me." The pout stayed in place and now, arms were crossed across the tiny chest. Weaver closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself in preparation. She knew she'd have to tell her soon enough, and now was the perfect opportunity. "You know, your daddy was a Milliner."

Immediately, Hatter's daughter's face lit up. "Daddy was a Mill-ner, too? What did his hat look like?"

Weaver had never told Molly anything about her father, only that she had one and he was gone, and the little girl had learned not to talk about him, because it made Mommy cry.

"Daddy was a wonderful milliner. Probably the best there ever was. He wore a hat, just like Uncle Topper's."

"He did?" Molly squealed.

"Yes, he did. He was very important to the Millinery."

"Where'd he go?"

Weaver looked down at her hands, and remembered how he used to run his fingers over her knuckles and then over her palm, so, so softly. Molly put her hands on her mother's and looked up into her face. Weaver gently pushed her daughter's dark brown hair away from her face.

"I don't know, sweetie. He had to protect someone, and he disappeared. No one has ever found him."

"Will he come back?"

Weaver shook her head gently. "I hope so, I really do. I just don't know when."

Molly hung her head sadly for a moment. But it is in the nature of four-year-olds to not truly understand these things, and the homburg hat drew her attention. Glad that there were no more painful questions, Weaver stood and began to tidy up the tent. When she turned around, she saw Molly standing in front of the basin filled with water, left over from her bath that morning. Molly was admiring herself in the water, the homburg hat sliding forward, low on her brow. She saw her mother staring and turned towards her. She grinned toothily at her mother, a reckless sort of smile, and put her hands on her hips.

"What do you think, Mommy?"

For a second, Weaver couldn't breathe. In this moment, Molly looked every inch the daughter of Hatter Madigan.

-xxx-

Molly began to spend every afternoon with Topper, learning about strategy and tactics. Weaver guessed that these lessons were probably similar to the courses she'd had to take, though of course Weaver's had been crash courses in How To Be a Spy 101 and How Not To Get Caught 101 and a lot of What To Do When You're Caught 101. Molly did not share with her mother her lessons, because she couldn't.

Topper hadn't begun to teach Molly the physical aspect of Millinery, but what almost-five-year-old could handle the rigorous training that took?

Weaver started out slow with Molly. Just now they were building up her endurance. They'd jog for a mile every day, and she made her daughter do various exercises when she woke up.

Molly never complained, not once. She stared at the calluses forming on her hands wordlessly and picked at the blisters on her feet, but she never said anything. She seemed to realize that there was a bigger picture than her sores.

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**I know this one's a short one, but reviews, anyway? Again, a thousand thanks to dragongirlj! **


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